


Don't Trust Anyone

by Brat_Prince



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 14:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9445565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brat_Prince/pseuds/Brat_Prince
Summary: Jack has had many sleepless nights, caused by one reason. It could have been imagined, but it felt so real.





	1. Chapter 1

Nightmares still plagued Jack, memories of that day from years ago. It would be bits and pieces here and there, but always enough to have him waking up in a cold sweat. He found himself now on one such night, sitting on the edge of his bed, heart still racing but trying to settle his breathing. His hands were clenched, gripping the sheets in his fist. There were very few tears at this point, just enough to sting the corners of his shut eyes. 

Moonlight filtered through the cracked curtains, the only dim light in the room. He looked up at it and tried to make sense of it all. Of course, he never could. All he could do was bring himself back to that moment.

Gabriel’s voice was hard, full of hatred and malice that was never before directed to Jack. Gabe held a steady aim on Jack, who was armed with no more than his rifle. Then there was bang, a loud cracking noise that made the chaos around them seem silent. Jack was kneeling now, gripping his side and trying to stop the flow of blood. He had been trained to suppress the pain, to go through an injury and line up another shot. By the time he had picked his gun back up to aim, Gabe was in front of him, kneeling to his level.

“Don’t trust anyone,” he had said, his voice still hard, but not as hateful as before. Jack could not question what he meant before another loud boom. 

The moments went by too fast. There was heat, fire. Concrete rubble was falling to the ground. The classified reports and briefings Jack had read on the instance described it as an inferno. It was just that. 

He had managed to stand, still gripping his side with one hand, the other keeping his rifle close. Looking around, he could not see Gabriel, only fire. If there was a Hell, he had seen it that day. The air was getting thicker, the smoke choking his lungs. Though he wanted to look for survivors, for him, he could not stay long. Then, there was a familiar voice. Not deep, not Gabe. It was a woman, and Jack quickly recognized it was the voice that would frequently save him from similar instances on the battlefield.

He debated making himself known to Angela for only a second, before what Gabe had told him ran through his mind.

“Don’t trust anyone.”

Since then, Jack tried to run through his head what he would have meant. He could pretend all he wanted, but Overwatch was running some risky operations. There was a reason the public eyes had turned against them. Jack understood that if he was still officially alive, they would have brought to question their actions and the authority of the Strike Commander.  
But it didn’t make sense to Jack. His friend, his partner, turning against him did not add up.  
He took a few breaths now, trying to shake the images from his head. It was the day he had lost Gabe, and a day that he had seen enough of. 

 

Sleep did not come again after that. He laid in bed, unable to close his eyes without seeing the blaze. After a few hours, he begrudgingly got up and stoop by the window, watching the world go by at night. The moon was getting lower now, and the nearby city lights blocked out most of the stars. He contemplated grabbing his visor, to see the stars more clearly, though he refrained from seeing anymore of his world in red. 

The shifting movement behind him did not go unnoticed. He continued to stand tall, straining his ears to make out who was there. Whoever it was did not try to make themselves silent. A soft breathing was still present, enough to make Jack call out.

“Whoever you are,” he started calmly, though his voice was still rough, “you won’t have an easy fight.” 

The other person remained voiceless for a moment. “I wouldn’t expect any less.” The voice was deep and rough, and it echoed through itself. 

Jack turned his head toward the figure now. Most of the other was in shadow, the dark of the room concealing most of his features. What did stand out to the soldier was the bone white mask the other hid behind, modeled after a skull. He watched the other, neither moving, but both observing the other. Jack was defenseless, his visor and rifle on the other side of the room, where the shadow decided to stand. It was a smart move on the shadow’s part, but it forced Jack to think quickly about how he would go about retrieving them. 

The other man shifted, cocking his head to the side and looking at the rifle propped up on the wall. The shadow let out a dark, grim chuckle. 

“I did not think I would have known the great Jack Morrison to have to steal his gun back.” The voice was mocking. “That is what you did, wasn’t it? After all, you’re supposed to be dead.”

The accusations made Jack squint his eyes in suspicion. “Who are you?”

“A ghost,” the shadow replied simply. 

Jack took a short but deep breath, then lunged towards the figure, using his elbow to ram into the other in hopes of incapacitating him enough to retrieve his gun. What he hadn’t anticipated was when he made contact, the shadow dissipated, leaving only slightly visible wisps of darkness in its place. Jack only questioned it for a moment, before grabbing his gun and readying it. 

The room appeared empty. There was no sign of the white mask, there were no more sounds of breathing other than Jack’s own. He stood, but did not lower his gun. His mind started racing again. The all too familiar voice ringing in his head over and over. It was Gabe’s voice, he was sure of that. But he had seen the pictures of the devastation, he had seen Gabe’s lifeless body immortalized on paper and in the back of his mind. 

Once the room had been checked thoroughly, Jack finally lowered his gun again. The sun was starting to rise, the room now had a pale monotone light. There was no sign of an intruder. Whether or not the vision he had seen was real, he decided this place was too dangerous now. He packed, and left the room with no sign that he himself had been there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the memory of the previous night, Jack finds himself face to face with the wraith again.

It was a mistake to visit the soldier, and the Other made it clear that it was displeased. Its voices rang as the wraith traveled through the dawning sky. He wasn’t surprised that the man had tried to attack him. He had been a soldier, it was in his nature now, as it was in the shadow’s. However, he had gone with a purpose, one he did not fulfill. The Other repeated to him how he had failed his job, again.  
The Other had come after the Reaper had died, something that clung to his soul as the deceitful angel pushed it back into the husk of his body. When it spoke, it spoke around him and in him. He had tried everything to get rid of the voice, at any costs. Nothing worked. All he could do now was try to ignore it. 

He got to the hideaway, the quietest place for him now. It was a plain room, part of a rundown apartment complex that would probably collapse in a few years’ time. Drywall was pealing, and even in the glowing morning light it was dark. He tore the mask off of his face, throwing it across the room with a trail of wispy smoke. The Other was loud, saying incomprehensible things. It resonated around the room, the louder it got the less stable he became. Soon the room was filled with a black mist, blocking any of the sunlight from entering. He was less a person now, having no face, no hands, no body. It was the monster he had become. 

 

He bided his time until the next night, returning to the streets to collect souls and calm the Other. The voice would leave him be for a while. He left deteriorating corpses in his wake, and he had little care who he killed. He continued his search for the soldier. He was the only one that mattered, he would tell himself, the Other would tell him. He repeated the same mantra from the fateful day that had turned him into this thing. 

“Don’t trust anyone.”   
And he didn’t. While he had formed alliances with Talon, he did not trust anyone there, just as he couldn’t trust anyone in Overwatch. Like Blackwatch, Talon was loyal to him. Unlike Blackwatch, he had less remorse when one of the agents died under his command. 

He scanned the dim streets and alleys below him, and a dispute caught his attention. He knew the neighborhood well, it was where the Los Muertos made their base. The dispute was a gun fight between some of the gang and a familiar visor-clad vigilante. The soldier had come to fight his one-man war. 

The soldier was skilled enough to combat the ones in front of him, but not observant enough to see the ones gaining ground behind him. One of the following gang members fired their gun, and before the soldier could turn and react, a cloud of black mist descended, covering the gang entirely. Gunshots were fired from within, none of them leaving the thick fog. It cleared and condensed, the wraith standing over the bodies. The members combating Jack had turned their attention to the reaper, but wouldn’t last long against the two. 

Jack had the final shot, barely waiting for the man to hit the ground before pointing the weapon back at the dark figure. An intricate gun was already pointed at him. They stood at a stalemate, before Jack noticed a tear in the figure’s armor, a black liquid trickling down the front. 

“Just like old times.” The Other rang through the wisps coming off the wraith. 

“Why did you help me,” Jack asked.

The figure did not respond immediately, slowly lowering his gun. “You would have died had I not.”

“You don’t seem like one to care about whether people die.” Jack did not lower his gun.

“Are you doing to shoot me, Jack,” the wraith asked, his head cocking slightly to the side, in what seemed like amusement.

The soldier clenched his jaw, though his expression remained hidden. He gestured his gun to the wound on the man’s chest. “Looks like I don’t have to.” 

The wound was deeper than most others, probably because he had used his whole body as a literal shield. As such, it was taking longer to heal on its own. 

“I’ll ask you again,” Jack firmly stated when the shadow said nothing, “why are you following me?”

The masked man looked down the gun, and back up to the soldier. Getting the message, Jack hesitantly lowered his weapon.

“I wanted to talk, like old times,” the reaper said, while taking a step closer.

The soldier’s body was still tense, readying himself in case he needed to strike. “What old times?”

“Back in Overwatch.” The shadow’s voice was almost condescending, and in Jack’s more alert state, he was starting to recognize it.

“Overwatch is gone.”

“Not the agents, not the ideals. You’re still fighting for it, aren’t you? Why else are you out here fighting gangs on the streets?” 

Jack took a moment to analyze the figure in front of him, trying to place the voice to the possibility of it being /him/. “You want to know about the former agents?”

A dark chuckle emanated from below the mask. “You’ve gotten slow, Jack.” 

“You’ve come to the wrong person. I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to.”

A growl pierced the air and instantly, the figure was a wisp once again. Jack raised his gun, readying for another battle. 

“You mean to tell me the former Strike Commander does not have an inkling of where his agents go when they aren’t working?” The black cloud covered Jack, and even his visor could not make out any of the surrounding objects. He would get locks on a figure, but it would instantly vanish. The words came from all around him. He tried to fire into the smoke, only to be met with the dark laughter. He went to move forward, leaning into the darkness ahead of him, before he felt himself go weightless. His feet were no longer on the ground, what felt like claws carrying him from his shoulders. 

He collided with a surface, his weight falling on his back. His gun had slid from his hands despite his efforts, and a newly materialized figure kicked it even further away. One breath was all he managed until a foot had planted him back to the hard rooftop, pushing the breath back out of him. 

“You may not know where they are, but you know how to find them, Jack.”

“Even if I did, why would I tell you,” Jack managed out between shallow breaths. 

The wraith was getting noticeably exasperated. One shotgun was still in the shadow’s hand, pointed again at the soldier. “Dammit, Jack.” 

Then it clicked, the familiar voice had a face. It brought back the violent memories and the reason Jack couldn’t sleep anymore.

“Gabriel?”

The wraith straightened, gun still pointed. “It took you this long? Honestly, I thought you would have connected the pieces by now.” The gun lowered, and his foot left the man’s chest.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Jack sputtered out, regaining his breath. “You were dead. I saw the reports, I saw the pictures...” His voice trailed off.

“And you’re not? If I ask anyone about the infamous Jack Morrison, would any actually believe you were alive?” 

Jack got to his feet, walking to the shadow. “God, Gabriel... What happened to you?”

The figure stood in front of him, facing him, unmoving. When there was no answer, Jack moved a hand to trace the edge of the mask that covered the reaper’s face. He did not move away, and with no resistance, Jack hooked his fingers and pulled it off. 

At first, there was nothing but thick smoke covering the face. Jack waited for it to clear up, settling into the familiar structure of Gabriel’s face. Only, there was something about it that made it unfamiliar as well. His eyes were no longer the dark brown, but were both a blank glowing white. His face was riddled with scars and tears where a similar white seeped through. 

“God, Gabe,” Jack finally got out, his voice no longer hostile as it had been. It was sympathetic, but also cautious. “How did this happen?”

“You know how, Jack.” Gabriel’s voice was still rough and echoing, even without the mask. “She was always messing with the boundaries of life and death.”

“Angela,” Jack muttered to himself. He was lost in thought, trying to figure out how the doctor could have created the creature that was both Gabriel and not. He was jolted back when clawed hands reached to the sides of his visor, clicking the sides, and pulled it off. 

“Looks like one of us made it out of the fall mostly intact.”

There were so many questions going through Jack’s mind. He didn’t know where to start, or how to start. Jack reached with his free hand to cup the sides of Gabriel’s face, but the shadow turned away from his grasp. 

“If you don’t answer my question, Jack,” Gabriel returned to the business at hand, “I’ll be left with two choices. I would have to bring you back and make you talk, but I know you. I know that no matter how much pain you endure, you would never forsake your team. That would mean I would have to kill you.” His voice was barely compassionate or sympathetic as he spoke. “I don’t really want to do either of those.”

“I don’t know where they are, Gabe.” The old nickname made the wraith tense. Jack took his visor out of the man’s hand and gave the mask back. 

The chuckle rose again, and Jack could see the strange twisting on Gabe’s face. “You’re trusting me, Jack.” 

“I know you, Gabe. You said so yourself, you won’t hurt me.”

“You knew me. You don’t know me anymore, Jack.” The shadow moved again, bringing himself closer to the soldier, a clawed hand clamping the back of his head. “I said I didn’t want to, that does not mean I wouldn’t if I needed to.” 

The soldier winced at the pain, watching the creature in front of him as a smirk rose on his face. “If you were going to kill me, you would have done so by now. You were never one to hesitate, Gabriel.”  
“You’re an insufferable bastard, Jack.”

In an instant, cold lips were smashed up against his, pointed claws digging into the back of his skull. Jack could do nothing but cling to the wraith. It had been so long, and now it was so different. Jack had his eyes open for only a second, watching the face of his companion, before he closed them and relaxed into the other. Jack found it difficult to breath after a few moments more, Gabriel letting off wisps that stopped him from breathing. He pushed away, gasping hard but refusing to let the man go. 

He had tried to piece together what had just happened, before he was enveloped in the smoke again, pulled off of the ground by a gentler grasp. When the cloud cleared up, he was on his feet on solid ground. He went to grab at the arm that was holding him, only to have it dissipate under his grasp. Turning, the wisp trails showed that the shadow had already left. He was frustrated as much as he felt the ping in his chest. Gabriel was still here. There was no way that he was fake. The sensation was just too real, the chill was still resting on his skin. 

However, Gabe had made it very clear that he was still after information, and Jack could not rely on this “trust” forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't expect this to go on much further, so I put it as complete. I have some headcanons for Jack and Gabe that came up after I posted the first chapter, and would have changed the interactions.


End file.
